Coming to an end
by Tempted Sacrifice
Summary: 'You may not believe me Professor, but I have grown very fond of you after the time spent together. Please -' Her voice cracked and his heart too.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, and merely write this for my own enjoyment.

∼ **Coming to an end ∼**

A bark of laughter; not out of exhilaration, but rather one of bitter regret. 'Would you rather see me dead?'

'N-no!' screeched the distressed witch, clumsily taking a hold of his hand. 'I would – I mean -'

That was not the response he had expected. He had expected a quirk of the lips, lifting of an eyebrow as if to question his sanity; a look that clearly indicated how foolish he was to believe that she held any kind of affection towards him. Certainly not this.

The now sobbing witch threw herself across the bed, her nose pressed against his neck as she sniffled and he felt the wetness of her tears; a great ache burning in his chest.

'You are clearly delirious.' he said, not wanting for one second to believe that her play was for real; clearly she was still under the impression that he had not caught up on her lie. She was a better actress than he had imagined. 'You should compose yourself, and behave like a proper lady.'

A smirk flitted across his face as he felt her tense. _Always so easy to rile up_. But she soon deflated against him, and the sides of his lips turned downwards; frowning at the bushy hair that obscured most of his vision. This was not the witch he knew, the witch that he had learned to lo –

_'No.'_ He would not go there, not know.

'W-why won't you b-believe me?' whispered the witch, clutching the front of his robes as she looked at him; amber eyes glistening with tears and blotches of red covering her otherwise pale skin. Despite her state, she was still beautiful.

He cleared his throat – and hopefully, his thoughts – glaring at the witch, disappointed when she only turned more determined._ 'Should have known it wouldn't work anymore.' _

'The war is over, you have no need to pretend anymore.' he breathed in through his nose, ignoring the slight pain in his chest. 'I know all about the plan between you and Potter. _Seduce the old man_, let him believe that you have fallen for his _charm_ and then lure out all the little secrets he may have hidden about the Dark Lord. I am not stupid Miss Granger.'

Sneeringly, he watched the girl as she shifted uncomfortably, noting with satisfaction – most certainly not hurt – that she put a fair bit of distance between them.

With a trembling hand, the witch reached out and cupped his face; holding onto him determinedly as he tried to push her away – alas, he was still too weak.

'Listen to me -' she said softly. 'It may have been about finding information at first but – but after a while I found myself drawn to me. It disgusted me, that I would feel _anything but_ loathing towards you. I fought vehemently against the attraction, but your extensive knowledge -'

'I have heard quite enough. You are still the know-it-all that I have taught for the past seven years.' He said scathingly, turning his head away in a dismissive manner; disappointment clouding his soul as he felt the weight of her shift away from the bed completely and the shuffling of her feet as she quietly made her way to the door.

'You may not believe me Professor, but I have grown very fond of you after the time spent together. Please -' Her voice cracked and his heart too. 'Please know that I will forever hold you in my heart, hoping that one day, you might see clearly.

'Goodbye Severus.'

With that, the door closed and he was left alone with his own thoughts. And for the first time in twenty years, Severus Snape cried.

* * *

After many gruelling months, he had reached full recovery. He was extremely lucky – or unlucky, depending on how one would look at it.

The only sign of him ever been bitten were the slight aching in his throat whenever he spoke too loudly and the discomfort of swallowing whatever he ate – with the expectation of soup. This did not bother him too much, as he had never been one to shout – it always unnerved people more when spoken calmly to when receiving a scolding – and he was not much of an eater, having lived under tremendous stress the last two decades.

Hermione Granger often popped into his thoughts, and no matter how much he tried to banish those or drink himself into oblivion and hope he would forget her; the warmth of her eyes always strung a cord in his heart, her nagging – which had always been of great annoyance – like music to his ears. He _needed_ her.

But – he had realized, after daring to open one copy of the _Daily Prophet_ – she had forgotten all about him, if the breaking news of the tabloid were anything to go by. For plastered on the front page of the paper were one Miss Granger and Mister Weasley holding hands; the thick bold letters underneath causing him to spit out his tea.

**'A marriage between two thirds of the trio; the love has been brewing for years.'**

He had quickly burned the newspaper to ashes with a simple wave of his hand. That day had ended in several detentions and double the amount of points being taken; especially from the house of lions.

When evening rolled by, he was sitting in his private quarters with a tumbler of Firewhisky beside him, waiting to be consumed. But he halted his hand from taking another shot, as he thought himself to have seen the fire move suspiciously through his hazy glare.

No, he shook his head. The girl was occupying too much of his thoughts, otherwise he wouldn't imagine seeing her bushy hair flickering through the flames. He pinched the bridge of his nose, making a vow to himself to forget all about the witch in question and dedicate himself whole-heartedly to this school-year, after which he would finally be able to leave the dreadful place which haunted him with too many memories.

Time passed quickly, and soon he was faced with the decision of finding and educating the next Potions master. The list of potential names – many crossed of – seemed to dampen his hopes of every leaving the castle. Each name had more cons than pros, and he almost wished to just pick up his wand and let it choose at random a person that would take up the position after him.

Damn his caring – despite it being hidden in the far depths of his heart and soul – for not allowing himself to choose anyone of the list, instead wanting to ensure that the person would teach the students properly. _Unlike him_, he thought bitterly.

Eventually – when a new prospect had been suggested – he was finally able to leave. It had taken most of his summer and the start of another year before he had gotten away, but now that he had; he had only one thing in mind. Despite how far-fetched the dream know might be, he needed to see Miss Granger and see if she would still consider the act of allowing him to court her. He had – with glee muddled by guilt – read that she and her beau had broken up, rather intensely and he was now ready to step up and take his rightful place at her side. For that was where he belonged.

But this pursuit was neither easy nor did it take a small amount of time. He had expected this, as he approached for the first time in almost two years; the way she had cursed him and yelled at him for over an hour had surprised him though. And the site of her tears had alarmed him greatly; he had never been good with her being distressed or feeling unwell in any way, despite what she, or others might think.

After another year of desperate longing he was starting to give up hope; a knock on the door interrupted his dark thoughts and when he opened the door, there she stood, cheeks tinged pink and eyes down-cast. He had invited her inside, and placed a warm cup of tea – Earl grey, her favourite – in front of her. She took great care in lifting the cup to her lips, and a smile; the first one in years touched his lips as he watched her, unbridled warmth coursing through him.

'Why?' she whispered, breaking his illusion of them in another time, happier times; seemingly so far away. 'Why the change of mind?'

Over and over he had phrased his answer in his mind over the last year, but nothing came to him as he sat there, watching her over the rim of his cup. The tremble of his hand, causing ripples in the liquid, was the only indication of his inner conflict.

'At that time, I had just come out a war I had not thought I would survive-' Here he paused, his eyes never leaving the form of the witch sitting on his couch. 'The thought of you holding me in the same regard I held – hold – you seemed so utterly ridiculous that I guarded my emotions; emptied my heart as I waited for the mocking smile that would tell me it had all been a lie. It never came, and I should've trusted you. But I didn't. And that was probably the biggest mistake I could have ever made.

'It pushed you away, and out of my life. Many times after that I went over the scene, over and over again in my mind. And many times I came to the conclusion that my intuition had been right, that you simply could not care for me. But then I saw the article, of you and Mister Weasley; rage unlike anything I've felt before consumed me, licked at my still healing wounds and I realized. I realized that despite the fact that you might not love me, or even _like_ me, I had to try. I could not live with myself if I let you go, without even trying. A plan formed in my mind, and I would find a way to court you properly, and treat you the way you deserve, the way that bumbling fool would never be capable of.'

Another pause. Nothing from her, not a change, a twitch. Nothing. He continued.

'Please Miss Grang – Hermione.' He nearly threw himself over the table separating them, brought her hands to his lips and kissed each finger. 'I am not the nicest man, nor am I deserving of your love, but please, let me show you how you mean the world to me, and how -'

His voice cracked; body overcome with emotion as it trembled and he sunk to the floor, black eyes trained on her brown ones. 'Please.' he whispered.

Silence. Several minutes passed, and only the sound of rain pelting against the windows and their slight breaths could be heard. He was starting to expect the worse, could almost see the cogs as they turned in her mind and braced himself for the rejection that was sure to come.

Softness. His closed eyes – when had he closed them? - opened, and he found himself lip-locked with the witch, and he pushed himself up to a more comfortable position; hands lovingly stroking her face, tilting it upwards so that he could deepen the kiss.

They broke apart when both needed the oxygen to breathe, but he couldn't help himself; kissing her lips, peppering her with the touch of his mouth. He could not get enough, her sweet smell encasing him, her taste almost too much to handle.

'You forgive me?' he asked between his shower of affection and could feel her nod, small sounds escaping her lips ever so often. _Oh, sweet Merlin._

'Severus.' she giggled when he found the spot behind her ear. He stopped his ministrations for a moment, hands around her waist stilling. 'I love you and-'

He stopped her from saying anymore by kissing her on the mouth; his needs, desperation and devotion bleeding through. He had lots to make up for, after all.

* * *

A/N: And that is the end. I had intended it to be more in character, but as this small story developed it took a completely different turn than I had expected, so I apologize for that. I am also sorry that the story is a bit rushed, but despite the small things that I want to add – I feel that it would destroy it completely – so I have opted to leave it as it is.

But I do hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.


End file.
